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Archive-name: Fantasy/faerie.txt

Archive-author: Deb Atwood (D-Singer)

Archive-title: Faerie Tale I





     My parents always said I was a changeling.

     I was born in Ireland, 18 years ago, only 2 years before my

parents came to the to the United States.  I've always grown up with

the stories of the wee folke and their mischief, as well as the more

serious of the Folke.  As for myself, my parents named me Erinn, after

their beloved land, and I grew up a woodland child.  My parents moved

to the state of Maine, here in the US, in a rural town.  My father

bought a house with as much land as we ever thought a man should own,

and I had a pony from the time I could walk.  And I was always

outside, riding in the woods, curled up in a tree reading, swimming in

the pond.  Until I grew up, that is.

     When puberty came upon me, and with it the knowledge that I had

to at least TRY to fit in with the girls at school, should I ever want

a boy to look at me, I tried to be less of a tomboy and took to

wearing skirts and heels, and speaking nicely.  The ways grated on me,

and I wanted little more than to throw on a pair of jeans saddle up

Brightwind and ride away for months at a time.  During school I could

see the forest and it called to me, I swear it.

     When I graduated from high school last June, my parents gave me a

trip to visit my grandparents, who were still in Ireland, for my

birthday.  I arrived a month ago and I do love it here.  'Tis

beautiful and fresh, and makes me want to believe the stories about

the little folk.

     And though I am not sure about the existance of the little folk,

I must admit to a belief in magic.  For what else could it have been?

     I had ridden my grandfather's horse out to the woods, and was

sitting below a tree, on the banks of the river.  I had my shoes off,

dangling my toes in the water, and I wore cutoffs and a t-shirt

besides that.  I longed to strip entirely and immerse myself in the

cool stream, and the more I thought about it, the better the idea

sounded.  Finally, looking and listening carefully until I was

positive no one was near, I stripped and tossed the t-shirt and shorts

by my sneakers on the ground.

     The water was cool, and pleasing in the erotic way its gentle

motion lapped against my hot skin.  I swam for a while, until a chill

began to take the pleasure away, and then stepped out, the water

dripping from my skin, to sit on a rock overlooking the stream.

     I spun 'round when I heard the crack of a footstep on branches

behind me.

     Standing before me was a huge brawn of a man, and carrying a

sword, I swear it!  He was over six feet tall, with dark hair and

sun-darkened skin.  The scruff of a few day old beard was on his chin,

and his arms were sinewy with muscles well-used.  He was dressed

strangely, in what appeared to be hard leather over his chest and

softer leathers underneath. At his side hung a small sword and a pack,

and across his back I could see the tip of a very large sword.

     I think my mouth fell open in surprise, as I sat there, dripping

wet and naked, unable to say a word to this apparition before me.

     When he spoke, his voice was deep and rumbling, and very very

pleasant.

     "Are you a nymph?" he asked, chuckling.  "Risen, seductive and

wet from the waters?"

     I couldn't do more than stare, still.

     He walked closer to me, and knelt so that his head was level with

mine.  "'Tis said that to catch a nymph is luck, but to lie with one

means death.  Your beauty does bewitch a man's loins, though."

     WHAT is he saying? I thought to myself.  I couldn't believe he

had just called me beautiful.  His eyes were still fastened on mine

and my breath felt short. There seemed to be some sort of message in

his eyes and my body was answering, oh god, was it answering.

     The stranger stood and unfastened the leather thong holding his

scabbard onto his back and then slowly lowered it to the ground.  My

eyes watched his every move, my cheeks growing warm with where my

thoughts wandered.  Slowly, and with great care for his possessions,

he divested himself of his weaponry. Well, almost all his weaponry.  I

smiled at my thought.

     Glancing up, his hands about to unfasten the hard leather that

covered his broad chest, he caught my eyes and smiled as I blushed.

     "A shy member of the folke," he chuckled.  "Well, I think I'll

just have me a wee bit of a swim here with you, if that be fine?"

     I nodded, still unable to speak.  I had barely heard what he had

called me, and slowly it dawned... he thought I was one of the faerie

folke!  He thought I was a nymph, a water nymph most likely.

     My train of thought derailed as he pulled his soft leather jersey

over his head, revealing broad shoulders, also sun-bronzed and strong.

He hooked a hand over the waistband of his trousers and quickly drew

them down over his narrow hips.  My breath caught in my throat as he

stood before me, naked and strong, his intentions clear.

     His eyes followed my gaze to that part of him which stood out

stiff and long from his loins, then he caught my eyes in his again.

"A hungry nymph, are ye?  Well, I think a wee bit of a swim first,

then we'll discuss other matters."

     He walked up onto the rock by me and then down into the water.

Once in he called to me, "Jump, nymph!  And I'll catch ye!"

     It was as if I were under a spell.  I stood, slowly, seductively,

and then waited before jumping.  I landed in his arms, a bit harder

than either of us intended, knocking him back into the shallow water.

We landed in a tangled heap, me on his lap feeling his hardness

against the softness of my bottom. I lifted my eyes shyly to his face.

     He was staring at me again, and before I could react he had

pinned my shoulders beneath his hands and claimed my mouth for a kiss.

His lips moved against mine with a deep hunger, and my lips parted

automatically to allow his tongue entrance.  His tongue slid into my

mouth, caressing the roof, sliding along and discovering every crevace

as it fenced with my own tongue.  I moaned against his mouth and felt

him grow harder beneath me, if that were possible.

     When are lips finally broke apart, he growled huskily, "If to lie

with a nymph is death, then 'tis a death I gladly welcome!"  His lips

were on mine again so quickly, and one hand slid down to capture my

breast.

     His hands weren't as rough as I expected as they tantalized each

nipple.  His his fingers rolled the tender nubs to hard points, his

thumbs teasing the tips while he continued to thrust his tongue deep

inside my mouth.

     I leaned forward, my breasts aching for more, and I felt his

mouth leave mine to trail a firey path down the edge of my throat to

the hollow at the base of my neck, then finally to my breasts.  He

teased me still, his mouth and tongue caressing the tops of my

breasts, then the sides, then licking up the hollow between the two.

My hands came up and my fingers entwined in his hair and I guided his

head until he caught one nipple between his teeth.

     The sensation was ecstasy!  I moaned, sliding my hips against

his, the feel of the water lapping over us adding to the sensation.

His mouth still locked to my breast, suckling deep, his hands guided

my feet until I sat more comfortable on his lap, one leg on either

side of him.

     His hands began to caress the rest of my body as his mouth

continued to play havoc with my senses, tasting first one nipple, then

the other, then back again.  His hands slid over the curve of my

waist, down across my smooth buttocks to caress the shape of my ass,

then forward until they found my warm slit, firey to the touch.

     He slid one finger deep inside me, and I moved against it.  He

lifted his mouth back to mine, and with one hand on my breast he slid

his other finger deeper, while the thumb of the hand carressed the

throbbing nodule of my desire.  My hips moved against his hand, and I

moaned my pleasure as he thrust his fingers deeper and deeper.

     I was about to go over the edge when he took his fingers from me.

I think I cried out, but the loss wasn't for long as he lifted my hips

and settled me gently against his throbbing member.  He positioned me

carefully and I slid down, feeling him hard and thick, filling me

until I thought I would split.  We stayed still for a moment, our

hands caressing each others body's, our tongues fencing within our

mouths.  Then slowly, oh so slowly, we began to move.

     He slid in and out, deeper with every thrust.  I could feel

myself grow damper, and I know I moaned and whimpered with pleasure.

His fingers slipped between us, caressing that nodule until I suddenly

felt spasms of pleasure wash over me and cried out in delight.

     As I started to come I felt his arms stiffen around me as he

thrust deep, and felt the warmth of his juices within me.

     We looked at each other, and he commented softly, "'Tis death to

lie with a nymph for she exhausts you."

     I laughed as he picked me up and carried me back to the rock,

lieing me down beside him.  My head on his shoulder, my body curved to

the contours of his, I fell asleep.

     When I awoke, the sun was lower in the sky, my hair ws dry and I

was again fully clothed except for the sneakers I had removed to

dangle my feet in the stream.  Except for an extreme exhaustion, I

could find no sign that I hadn't dreamed the entire thing.

     But as a funny coincidence, my Irish relatives have taken to

calling me wood nymph, for as the sun bleaches my hair it is gaining

greenish tints.

     Ah well, I do have six more weeks in this magic land, and perhaps

I can find the magic once again...?



                                   * * *

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